


The Start of Something New

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Childbirth, Children, Family Fluff, Fatherhood, New Parents, Parenthood, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 02:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15451374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: Before Ierian Sparatus was councilor, he was an ambassador. And in between those two, he became a father.





	The Start of Something New

Ierian paced the length of the waiting room, wringing his wrists, fluttering his mandibles, shaking his head, anything, anything to distract from the pure, raw _fear_ clawing at his gizzard. _Clack, clack, clack!_ went his toe-claws on the tile, declaring his anxiety to anyone who would listen. And, really, nobody had any choice. He hadn’t had time to do much more than call for a cab and grab the bag they’d had sitting by the door practically since they’d first learned they’d need it before sprinting out.

Oh, the press would have a heyday with this, he was sure. An _ambassador,_ rushing to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, clad only in a robe and boxer shorts so old the waistband had gone slack years ago. And he wouldn’t even be wearing _those,_ if Teia wasn’t so close to term and so worried about _exactly_ what happened, about having to get to the hospital in the middle of the night when they certainly weren’t presentable. At least _she’d_ made a decently respectable picture staggering into reception, one of his old band shirts hanging off one shoulder and modestly covering her baby bump and plates already farther open than would be at all decent in any other circumstance. But _she_ wasn’t the one shooed out of the room to wait with the other expectants whose children didn’t have the manners to wait until morning.

He paused near the reception desk to take a deep, shuddering breath in a vain attempt to calm down. Just beyond it, a salarian nurse blinked up at him sympathetically. He was new, Ierian noticed. When had they switched? The nurse who’d admitted Teia had been a drell. “First time?”

The exhale _whoosh_ ed out of him as he nodded hastily, and the salarian gave a knowing nod. “Don’t worry,” they assured him. “Dr. Octavinian’s one of the best. She’ll make sure both your mate and your baby come out fine.”

Ierian didn’t say the words that bubbled up in the back of his throat. That he was sure the nurse said that about every doctor, to every patient. That all the platitudes in the galaxy couldn’t help him right now. Behind a door and soundproof walls, his Teia, his dear, darling Aediteia, was giving birth to their first child, and all he could do was _wait._

He glanced at the chrono on the wall. 0863. Nearly seven hours since Teia had kicked him awake, shocked by her own pain, bellowing like a monster in a story book as the child inside her decided it wanted _out._ His heart hadn’t stopped racing since. All the books and extranet sites had said it was normal for first births to take a while, but that didn’t make it any less worrisome. An asari nurse had come around a while ago with a breakfast cart, something to tide over all the tense faces in the room too nervous to go to the cafeteria themselves. He’d only barely managed to choke down the roasted eggs they’d suggested might calm his nerves, and the tea he’d attempted had been abandoned on a table after only a couple sips.

He’d spent most of the time pacing, pacing, trying to distract himself from thoughts of his beautiful Teia in so much agony. Socializing had helped, a little. In this part of the Citadel, the patients were as varied as they got. A batarian had eagerly told him how much more pleasant it was to go through the ordeal on the Citadel rather than Khar’Shan, a fellow first-timer drell had come with her hanar associate for moral support, an asari matron admitted she’d never been on this side of the doors before and suddenly had so much more appreciation for her old bondmates, a lone quarian fretted that the rooms might not be sterile enough. A turian with a two-year-old in his cowl had picked him out for a first-timer immediately, and assured him with soothing subvocals that he knew exactly how he felt. It was about as pleasant of conversation as one could expect in a waiting room full of tension and dread.

He was turning to walk back towards the anxious quarian when a voice called out, “Ambassador?”

He spun so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. The asari nurse who’d so hastily shooed him out of the room was standing in the doorway now, posture exhausted but face bright. “If you’d like to come in now, there’s someone waiting to meet you.”

Time froze. His throat tied itself in a knot as a chorus of enthusiastic congratulations rose up around him and his entire universe narrowed to something unseen just beyond that asari. Everything else faded out, and he walked as if in a dream towards the nurse, towards Teia, towards _his child._

When he got to the door, the nurse stepped aside, he took one step in, and there they were.

Teia, beautiful, wonderful, _amazing_ Teia, exhausted but smiling down at the bundle of blankets in her arms. She was nothing short of _radiant,_ all but glowing in his old shirt and cradling a mess of fabric. He wasn’t a religious man, and even when he did allow himself such flights of fancy he stuck to tradition, but looking at Teia in that hospital bed, he had the briefest thought, just for a passing moment, that this must have been what it was like to stand in the presence of a goddess.

And then she turned her head to look at him, and she lifted weary mandibles, and she managed a weak, “Hey, sunshine. Come say hi to your son.”

 _Son._ A son. He had a _son._ His heart sang the words as he closed the gap between him and his new family, a song that thrummed its way out through his subvocals, _delight_ and _pride_ and _love_ all wrapped up in one enchanted package. Teia adjusted the blankets so he could see, and sure enough, there he was, a row of stubby spikes rising behind his frontal plate. An immature crest. A crested, a baby crested. His _son._

Teia purred, weary but strong and full of love. “Do you want to hold him?”

His breath caught in his throat, and he nodded mutely. His hands shook as he reached out to take the precious bundle from his precious wife and cradle him to his chest. So close now, he could hear the baby chirping and mewling away, eyes still closed but already hunting for his mother. Ierian pulled the blankets back just a smidge to get a better look at his face, his heart doing somersaults across his chest cavity. Their baby looked like his mother, minus the muddy patch in the middle of her face. Tawny plates and slender body and that cute little hook at the bottom of his brow plates Ierian had always adored on his wife and now fell in love with all over again on his son. He was _perfect_.

He could have stared at him forever. Spirits, he _wanted_ to. But a contented, self-satisfied little sigh from Teia drew his attention back to the holy ground that was his wife, and he hesitated, then asked, “Do you want him back?”

“No,” she hummed, eyes drifting shut, “let him learn his papa’s scent.” She sighed, long and slow, then dragged her eyes back open. “He’s going to need a name, you know,” she slurred. “I was thinking… Areus.” Her mandibles flicked higher up for a moment, then back down to their slight raise, apparently unable to hold it for long. “I read a book about a wizard named Arecius, once, when I was a kid… I liked how the first couple syllables sounded."

He hesitated, now placing his inner finger where the baby could sniff, beak, and try to grab it. _Areus._ Areus Sparatus. Areus Epirian, perhaps, if he so chose when he was older. Yes, they both had nice rings to them. _“Areus,”_ he repeated out loud, testing the name on his tongue. “I like it.”

“Good,” Teia mumbled, shrugging her way down into the pillows. “Then…” She yawned, then tried again, “Then you spend some time with him. I’m gonna… take a little nap…”

He blinked and looked up, but she’d already closed her eyes and nestled her head in her cowl, so he swallowed back his protest. She’d been through enough for the day. She’d _more_ than earned a nap.

So instead, he took a few cautious steps over to the window and sank down in the chair there, clutching baby Areus to his chest like the slightest disturbance might shatter him. And, well, babies were fragile, weren’t they? For all he knew, he very well could.

The doctors and nurses had excused themselves quietly while he met his baby for the first time, so, free from any watchful eyes, he exhaled slowly and made himself comfortable, watching Areus shift in his blankets. Areus, Areus, his son Areus, his _son_ , _Areus,_ his mind chattered, delighting in the words like a salarian with a difficult math problem. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. This tiny bundle of soft plates and vulnerable flesh was his new religion, every movement and every squeak his gospel. He loved his son, he decided. He _loved_ his _son_. They weren’t new words to him, but they had new _meaning,_ and he supposed that made them new enough. This was his _son,_ and he _loved_ him. Wholly, completely, and unconditionally.

And the languid body lying prone in the hospital bed, already breathing slow and even in her slumber, who had given him this extraordinary gift, was just as perfect.

His heart felt like it might burst with all the love he felt for the two other turians in the room. One night of passion, two and a half Palaven months of worry and excitement, several hours of panic, and now everything was peaceful, and he held a miracle in his arms. His beautiful Areus would be amazing, no matter what became of him, he already knew it in every fiber of his being.

The idea of the future sent a chill down his spine. What would it hold, for him or for Teia or for their precious son? Were they really ready to be parents, or should they have waited? Would Areus make it through infancy? There were so many things in the galaxy that could hurt the tiny blessing in his arms. Could they keep him safe from it all?

A low snuffling from the blankets banished all fears of the countless things that went bump in the night, and he turned his attention back to Areus, now wriggling in his blankets, sniffing deeply, and working his tiny jaws in his search for food. Heartstrings sufficiently tugged, Ierian leaned down to oh-so-gently touch his nasal plates to his son’s tiny face. “Shh,” he murmured, moving to place the newborn in his cowl for heat and safety. The nurses had left behind a small tray with a sign on top reading, _BABY’S FIRST FEEDING_ , with a crude smiley face scribbled on, and he cautiously stood up to go to it. “Here, let’s see what you like.”

And, cracking the lid off a disposable tray of meats and fungi, Ierian allowed himself to forget about everything other than the new center of his universe in his cowl.

**Author's Note:**

> ftr according to my hc 2.5 palaven months is roughly equal to 4.5 earth months, a turian pregnancy is about half as long as a human one


End file.
